Come, Little Children
by C.A. Hulapi
Summary: What happened on the night when the children of the town were spirited away? (One-Shot)


She didn't know why she hadn't been swiped away by the melodious shadow, the figure who had come in the night to lead them away.

No, she did. She'd been afraid of the promises, as had been many other ones. But she'd seen them, seen the line of children darned only in bedclothes, little ones clutching stuffed animals. They'd been intoxicated by the hopes and wishes of something more, the words weaved by the leader.

The moon had risen bright and full when the cloaked shadow had risen and began to glide from street to street, calling to the children in such a beautiful voice, leading mere babies from their blankets... They'd marched the town, taking many, even some of her friends being lost to the music.

The shadow had come right up to her door, even, willing her sleepy-eyed brothers away with it. It'd looked at her expectantly, too, but she'd shook her head so forcibly that she thought she saw the hint of an amused smile as it nodded and swept away into the alleys of her town.

Her father had weeped, and so had so many others, for their own children who had been carried away in the night. But nobody spoke of how the cardboard boxes of the alleys and rickety old bunks of the orphanage were empty as well, and she'd seen those ones too, dressed in raggedy nightgowns and old, patched pants, clutching broken bears and rabbits, the most pining of them all.

Her friends had been in line, too. The twins had stumbled dazedly after the shadow, smiling wistfully and being the front and center of the line, even clutching the lady's hands as she sung her bitter words to the town. She knew things had been rough to everyone in the line, that nobody in it was likely to be healthy, happy. Stan had disappeared just a year ago, along with their parents- and nobody else would take them except the social services in Gravity Falls, pushing them away with words of devil children from hell.

And she'd seen her smile at each of them, all of them, and for a second she'd wished she'd joined them in the dark moonlight. But then she steeled herself, because she couldn't leave her dad behind: she was his last hope.

They looked so happy and free, empty of worry, and so hopeful. She couldn't take that from them by stepping out, either. Nobody else but the others who'd seen understood why she hadn't stopped them in their tracks, yelled to the town. They'd been so at peace, so free and loved... How could she take that away?

But the silence was defeaning the next day, as the town mourned its children. And not its residents, whose homes were full and warm and lively and their parents kind and cautious, but its _children, _the ones who laid in its burrows, the ones who knew its alleys, the ones who took solace in the warmth of a cardboard box and the family of other urchins, running boldly in the streets walked by those who didn't understand the magic of an empty boulevard or a warm meal after dark.

And her other friends teased her when she'd said this, but she'd seen the recognition in their eyes at her words. They understood why the city was as quiet as it was, why the corners seemed deeper, why the doorways were empty of something. And they scorned her, yes, but they also looked at her in a way the adults didn't when she explained what happened that night. They knew what truth rang in her words.

She'd visited the orphanage a few days after, as if she didn't know what answer she'd get at the door. The windows were boarded shut and all entries nailed tight. Nobody was there. She'd seen the headmistress of the home sobbing her eyes out just yesterday, and she'd known, she'd seen, but it still made her heart ache to see where her friends had been living for the last year locked and empty, forgotten in the trees that surrounded it.

Her carefree attitude had disappeared the moment she'd seen the shadow lady gently holding the hands of the two she had learned to be almost as close as family. No- it had died before that, when she'd held her hand out in offering to enter a land of enchantment, away from the death of Stan, of her mum, and she'd wanted, oh, so bad, to take the woman's hand, for in that second she had been her mum, smiling sweetly. But then she'd been the bitter woman leading them away again, and she'd denied it, even as her brothers tugged at her unwilling fingers.

Because she couldn't. She had her father, she had the town, she had hope. The others may not have- she knew, really, that times had been hard on all of those who had been lead away into the night- but she did, she had so much left. Her mother was dead. She'd been denying it for so long now, that she'd not be coming back, but it was there now, shoving itself in her face.

She couldn't leave her town. She was Wendy Curduoroy, and no matter how many assurances of magic you gave her, she couldn't leave the magic of life. Not even for the promise that came with death.

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**This honestly took an hour and a half, listening to to the song it was inspired by on loop. But it was totally worth it. Also, the song is "Come Little Children", and it can be found on Soundcloud and YouTube just by looking that up.**

**Word Count: 954. Not bad for a one shot, hm?**

**So yeah. I brainfarted this yesterday and just got around to finishing it.**

**In terms of my story Cipher Twins, look I'm sorry it's taking so long to update, but my comp is a jackass and has deleted the docs of the third chapter all four times I've written it. Ugh why.**

**So yeah, that's it.**


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